Pain. Lost love. Betrayal. And most importantly...Coffee. Pain Center, the Novel!, the new book from David G. Cookson, Available April 4th.
Thursday, March 09, 2017
Pain Center: the Novel! Available April 4th!!!
Pain. Lost love. Betrayal. And most importantly...Coffee. Pain Center, the Novel!, the new book from David G. Cookson, Available April 4th.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Last Call at a place where I think Bill knew my name....
A week ago I heard the news that Dougherty’s Pub was closing its doors, after 30 plus years in business. I worked there for ten years, years of my life that I count among the best. It’s not an exaggeration or some teary eyed thing to say just because it’s all now coming to an end. It’s because of what the Pub meant to me that my heart continues to hurt days after hearing the news and will no doubt hurt long after it is all finally gone and the doors close early Sunday morning.
I first came into the Pub about 20 years ago with a girlfriend. Before even ordering food, before even getting a drink, I said, “Let’s come here when we don’t know where else to go.” Which, in retrospect probably sums up my feeling toward the place that had become my second home. There was no place anywhere outside of my home that I felt more comfortable. The vibe, the simplicity, the good feelings that came from here; the Pub was a lot of things to a lot of people. When I got hired in 2000, it was kind of an off-handed transaction, the kind that would typify the next ten years there. No applications, no rigorous background checks: if you were a friend of someone who worked there, you were okay. When you came there, you were already family. If you knew somebody, you had a chance to be part of something, to work in a place that would keep you as long as you needed it, as long as you did your part and tried your best.
Bill and his family supported me in times of need. I can’t count the number of times when he came through for me in some way, as a boss or as a friend. It was the best feeling in the world to know that someone had my back. The Pub was truly a special place, where artists, musicians, black, white, Latino, Latina, construction workers, teachers, lawyers, doctors, nurses, soldiers, bureaucrats, students, and countless others could come together and eat and drink in peace. It was truly unique: a melting pot of Baltimore, once praised by The Baltimore City Paper as the Best Place where White and Black Baltimore Meet. I was always proud of that fact, that it was a place where everyone could go, where everyone could feel comfortable, no matter who they were. It was a neighborhood bar that was not really in a neighborhood, somewhere in that nether region between Mount Vernon, Martin Luther King Boulevard, and the Cultural District. This was the Pub that Never Changed. Even 4 days before it closes its doors and I enjoy it for one of the last times, it is still the same Pub that I remember.
I will always love this place. And now we say good bye. I already miss you.
I first came into the Pub about 20 years ago with a girlfriend. Before even ordering food, before even getting a drink, I said, “Let’s come here when we don’t know where else to go.” Which, in retrospect probably sums up my feeling toward the place that had become my second home. There was no place anywhere outside of my home that I felt more comfortable. The vibe, the simplicity, the good feelings that came from here; the Pub was a lot of things to a lot of people. When I got hired in 2000, it was kind of an off-handed transaction, the kind that would typify the next ten years there. No applications, no rigorous background checks: if you were a friend of someone who worked there, you were okay. When you came there, you were already family. If you knew somebody, you had a chance to be part of something, to work in a place that would keep you as long as you needed it, as long as you did your part and tried your best.
Bill and his family supported me in times of need. I can’t count the number of times when he came through for me in some way, as a boss or as a friend. It was the best feeling in the world to know that someone had my back. The Pub was truly a special place, where artists, musicians, black, white, Latino, Latina, construction workers, teachers, lawyers, doctors, nurses, soldiers, bureaucrats, students, and countless others could come together and eat and drink in peace. It was truly unique: a melting pot of Baltimore, once praised by The Baltimore City Paper as the Best Place where White and Black Baltimore Meet. I was always proud of that fact, that it was a place where everyone could go, where everyone could feel comfortable, no matter who they were. It was a neighborhood bar that was not really in a neighborhood, somewhere in that nether region between Mount Vernon, Martin Luther King Boulevard, and the Cultural District. This was the Pub that Never Changed. Even 4 days before it closes its doors and I enjoy it for one of the last times, it is still the same Pub that I remember.
I will always love this place. And now we say good bye. I already miss you.
Monday, August 11, 2014
A belated Review of Jonathan Ames' "The Extra Man."
The Extra Man by Jonathan AmesMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I enjoyed the hell out of this book, but I failed to review it before returning it to the library. Alas, this Jonathan Ames...all right, let's call it a classic...is by far one of the funniest books I've read all year. As my recent reading of My Less than Secret Life informs me, this book is not far from the embarrassing truth of Ames' reality. His character is a young man who fancies himself as a young Gentleman in the tradition of an F. Scott Fitzgerald character. He moves to New York City in the early 90's with a roommate who is easily 3 times his age, though his real age is kept a mystery to the young man. The old man spends his days dancing to old records and his nights being taken out by even older ladies. They use him as an "extra man," a man to escort them out to the theater and dinner and the like. It is via this route and some very clever workarounds that the man is able to experience the finer things in life without actually having any money to spend on them.
The young man learns his ways, while living his own somewhat shameful secret life, filled with illicit encounters with prostitutes and transsexuals. It is a life he keeps from the old man even while he grows to love him as a friend and a mentor. It's kind of sweet in a very ridiculous way. It is what one might now call a "Bromance."
As with everything I've read from Ames so far, I laughed my ass off the whole time. I believe Ames is in the category of "love him or hate him." I have already written before about admiring his honesty. The fact that he can get so detailed about the things that he writes about, even when they come off as embarrassing, humbles me as a writer. There are stories and things that I do not tell because I do not have it in me to bear my soul the way he does. I believe he is a stronger writer for doing so. The Extra Man is a great place for anyone to start to see if they agree.
View all my reviews
Saturday, August 09, 2014
A Serial Killer in Nazi Berlin: The Chilling True Story of the S-Bahn Murderer. A review.
A Serial Killer in Nazi Berlin: The Chilling True Story of the S-Bahn Murderer by Scott Andrew SelbyMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
A relatively brief (262 pages) but fascinating true story of a not-very-well-known piece of Nazi history: the story of Paul Ogorzow, a railroad employee who derived pleasure from the killing of women during the late thirties/early forties in the heart of Berlin and the Nazi empire. His preferred M.O : bashing women over the head with a heavy object on the S-Bahn train, then throwing their bodies off in between stops. This all happened in darkness under the cover of the government enforced blackout (a way to make it hard for enemy planes to find their targets at night).
On his trail is Inspector Wilhelm Ludke. While nominally a Nazi party member, he actually feels a deep commitment to law and order, and is frustrated by the lack of help he gets from the upper reaches of the Party, who do not wish to appear weak due to the presence of a serial killer in their midst….
It is a fascinating story, against the backdrop of wartime Berlin during the Nazi regime. While the evil and “ethically challenged” leaders are busy trying to dominate the world, there were still normal everyday people who were trying to get back and forth to work, who live in fear due to the actions of one man wielding a blunt object, invisible in the darkness. While the Holocaust and Nazism represented a systemic evil, the personal level at which Ozgorow’s actions affect regular people are no less frightening and evil.
If the author ever gets bogged down in descriptions and details (why it is called the S-Bahn, the purpose of blackouts, etc.), it is only briefly. How Ozgorow is ultimately caught proves to be a breathtaking narrative, and a tribute to those who choose law and justice even when it was not the first priority of the Reich.
View all my reviews
Friday, August 08, 2014
My Less Than Secret Life: A review
My Less Than Secret Life: A Diary, Fiction, Essays by Jonathan AmesMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Ames’ best and worst quality is his honesty. His absolute, brutal, not-afraid-to-embarrass-himself honesty. He vocalizes thoughts that most of us keep private, which probably should be kept private. While some may look at his many adventures with transvestites/transsexuals and his stories about pooping and nose picking and masturbation as being somewhat vulgar and unnecessary, at least you can say that he is not full of shit. He is far too open to be considered shady or dishonest.
And for me, at least, this works.
My Less than Secret Life is a compilation of much of his late ‘90s/early 2000’s work. It’s a hodgepodge of essays, short stories, letters, what have you, that serve as a very complete (some might think overly complete) picture of the author as a middle aged man.
As with any such compilation, some of it works and some of it doesn’t. I believe the two strongest pieces are the one about how two chapters of his novel were stolen in an elaborate plot by a misguided friend, and the one about visiting a porno movie set with his father. Both stories are riveting, wickedly funny accounts of things that just don’t happen to most people.
In fact, these things and many other things he writes about, including his training for and participating in a boxing match with a stage performer, just don’t happen to anyone. Yet these things happen to Ames on a regular basis. And for the most part, he welcomes the adventure. Because as a true creative non-fiction writer, in the tradition of hunter Thompson and Hemingway, Ames throws himself into the story, to hilarious effect.
I loved most everything about this book: I can’t even count the number of times I laughed out loud at something I’d read. This is a great lead-in to Ames’ fiction (read The Extra Man!), which, as this book shows, isn’t very far from the truth.
#JonathanAmes
View all my reviews
Friday, July 18, 2014
I am a baseball fan of the game of baseball: a random personal history of how I got from being a young and confused New England kid to being a huge fan of a team in a town where I hadn’t grown up…
The Triangulation.
I grew up in Pittsfield Massachusetts, which in the eyes of most sports fans should place me as a Boston Red Sox fan. But Massachusetts is a bigger place than most people would assume. Often when people ask me “how far is Pittsfield from Boston?” I say “about 2 and a half hours or as far as you can get without actually leaving the state.” For while in fact the word “Massachusetts” would indicate that my loyalty should be to the home state, in actuality my region of the state was/is a triangulation of 3 separate TV markets, covering 3 separate teams: the aforementioned Boston Red Sox, the New York Yankees, and (if you really hate the Yankees but can’t stand rooting for the Sox) the New York Mets, the one New York team (in any sport) I couldn’t hate if I tried. Growing up in the 80’s, way before ESPN and MLB started dominating the baseball airwaves, I had The Boston Red Sox on WSBK out of Boston, the New York Yankees on WPIX out of New York, and The New York Mets out of WWOR, Secaucus, New Jersey. Realistically, I had a legitimate claim on any one of these teams as “home town” teams, since they were brought to my living room in equal measure. I mostly gravitated to the Sox and the Mets, since I didn’t care too much for the Yankees and they were terrible in the 80’s anyway.
Fair Weather Fan.
Growing up, I was a classic fair weather fan. My reasons for liking teams usually had to do with players I liked, or teams that were doing well.
The first year I started watching baseball was 1984, (the year after the Baltimore Orioles last won the World Series). I had a sticker book of 1983, which required me to buy sets of stickers that fit into that book into the appropriate slots. The packets of stickers were about 60 cents each and contained about 6 stickers with either a baseball player or a baseball scene from that year. Because that sticker book was my obsession that summer, I will always remember a few random things, like that Rick Dempsey was the 1983 World Series MVP, and that the Kansas City Royals finished at an 81-81 record.
But I had no one team I favored. I liked Dale Murphy, so I liked the Braves. I liked Carlton Fisk, who was playing for the White Sox. That year, I watched my first World Series, and I liked the Tigers, who beat the Padres in 5 games (it really was no contest, as that team was a powerhouse that year). The next year, Kansas City won it all, and I for whatever reason started wearing a Royals hat (that was ill-advised). I even rooted for the A’s the year they got beat by Kirk Gibson’s walk-off homerun in Game one of 1988…for a very limited time, at one point or another I had a different favorite team, possibly because I had yet to discover things like team loyalty and hometown pride or the nobility in suffering (like Cubs fans or the Red Sox fans of those days did). I was just a kid who didn’t know any better back then.
1986
But my one true year as a semi-devoted fan of any one particular team was 1986, when I fully backed my “native” Boston (“about 2 and a half hours or as far as you can get without actually leaving the state”) Red Sox…except when I was watching my equally native New York Mets, who were also quite good that year.
Boston had Dwight Evans, Rich Gedman, Roger Clemens, Calvin Shiraldi, Jim Rice, Bill Buckner, and a host of other people I can’t remember off the top of my head. The Mets had Wally Joyner, Len Dykstra, Ray Knight, Howard Johnson, Darryl Strawberry, Dwight Gooden, Ron Darling, Gary Carter, Tim Teufel (of the “Tuefel Shuffle”) George Foster, Mookie Wilson, all managed by Davey Johnson, one of the best managers in baseball…come to think of it, it’s possible I remember more about the Mets than the Sox… (I’m trying to write this without googling: these are just the names I remember…) 1986 was a great year for my dual fandom of these teams, as I pulled for and followed them all year as they began their collision course with one another in that classic World Series. I had to pick a side: I chose the Sox…those of us who were alive and conscious during the 80’s know exactly how that one worked out…
I didn’t actually see the ball go through Buckner’s legs; it all happened past my bedtime (I was 10). My dad told me about it the next morning, in kind of a foggy and confused way that lots of Sox fans felt the next morning. I probably didn’t feel it as intensely as other new Englanders. But when I watched Game 7 and my favorite relief pitcher that year, Calvin Shiraldi, got hammered by the Mets (I don’t actually know what happened, this is just how I remember it), my heart sank as surely as if I’d actually seen that ball go through Buckner’s legs. (My adult self knows what an overhyped error this was. But it will unfairly go down in the annals of scapegoating, along with the Bartman play of 2003. Please, Chicago, forgive that man. Alou would’ve never caught that thing anyway!)
Anyway, after that year I kind of lost interest in the Sox. I just wasn’t as committed as I thought I was. Other than my year I followed the Athletics in ’88, I moved on to other things, namely music and playing the drums in little band called Lampstand. I didn’t watch sports at all for almost 6 years…
Baltimore.
And the next thing you know, I grew up and moved to Baltimore. Where, as it turned out, my love of baseball was restored…
It didn’t happen right away. I moved during the ’94 strike year. I was 18. But sometime during the 1995 season, when some guy named Ripken was making his run toward history, playing in a record 2131 consecutive games, I worked at a deli that was about a half block away from the celebratory parade route for Mr. Ripken, which we were allowed to skip out of work to attend. The next years the team went on two exciting playoff runs that united the city behind them. Suddenly they were the most important thing going. It was during that period right before the Ravens came to town and took primary ownership of the sports attention in Baltimore. In ’97, when the O’s went wire to wire, I remember being in a math class at my Community College, in another Game 6…people running out every other few minutes to check on the score (if this were today, I could have just followed along on my phone). And…the O’s losing to Cleveland in a heartbreaker…
Unlike those games of ten years earlier, this was in my city, my beautiful adopted home city, one I was proud to call home. I moved for my own reasons, but one of which was to be my own person, to assert my independence in a new place where things were fresh and exciting to me. I’ve always seen Baltimore with outsider’s eyes, and I’ve always felt like this was a gift. I love the people, the neighborhoods, the great many things to do, the fact that even now after 20 years I still discover new parks and parts of town I never knew existed, and even more, I love my teams. And while I have learned to love my Ravens (2 Super Bowls makes it easy), I love my Orioles just a little bit more…
The Dark Years.
Yeah, any O’s fan remembers the years between 1998 and 2011. We sucked. Gotta own it: if I refer to an Orioles win by saying “We Won!” I also have to be able to say “We lost.” after a loss. We sucked. Really, really, really, fucking sucked.
This team certainly spent a lot of time punishing me for turning my back on what should have been my childhood team. Watching the Red Sox win 3 World Championships may seem like punishment for not sticking with them. But at the same time, I am not that person anymore. I could no more call myself a Red Sox fan than I could stop breathing or singing in the shower or yelling “moo!” at cows on the side of the road, or yelling “puppy!” whenever I see a puppy. It’s just not me.
Even the Dark Years had their moments. I actually attended my first big league game in 1998. It was the O’s vs the Chicago White Sox, Mark Buehrle was pitching and I think Jose Canseco was still playing. I know that we lost. But I had so much fun going, I kind of didn’t care. My buddy’s dad took a group of us, bought us beers, and as we sat out on beautiful night of mediocre baseball, he seriously questioned why we’d all never done this before?
I really didn’t have an answer for that. But if it had taken me 23 years to finally make it to a big league game, I certainly have made up for that in the years since…
But these were the Dark years of multiple managers and ownership interference and stupid decisions and Albert Belle and losing Mike Mussina and a cover article in a national sports magazine detailing how bad and poorly mismanaged my team was. Things were so bad that a grass roots fan protest was organized: there was a mass walkout during a game, to protest the poor team play and the poor management that had led us into this horrible stretch. I wasn’t a part of that, but I wanted to be.
2012. Buck, and Why I continue to love baseball and the O’s.
Then Buck happened.
Buck Showalter taking over this team at the end of 2010 was the beginning of a sea change in Baltimore. After many years of many different managers, it finally looked like the ownership was getting serious when they hired Buck. The newspaper began printing the O’s record under Buck. And even though it was way late in the season and we were way out of the pennant race, Buck gave us reason to talk about the O’s.
My wife and I love Buck. We watch his press conferences, laugh at his gentle humor; bask in the glow of his simple wisdom. Buck gives us our little moment of Zen, every day. Nothing makes us feel better after a loss than listening to his long-view take on everything. And nothing grounds me more as a fan after a win then understanding his long-view. Baseball is a long season, 162 games a year. One win or win loss isn’t then end of the world, nor is it a reason to think too much of yourself. No matter what, Buck is in charge, and any success the team achieves is surely the result of his leadership, something we had lacked for so many years. One day there will be a statue of him out there past left/centerfield. I just know it.
Then the curse of the Andino happened.
Another major event involving the Boston Red Sox that I didn’t actually see. This was still during what can be considered the Dark Years. I only actually read about it on Facebook, and in spite of my lagging interest in my adopted home team, I at last was able to express pride in them for knocking out the Red Sox on the last day of the 2011 season. The Red Sox, a team whose fans had been invading our stadium for years and possibly edging out traveling New Yorkers for the title of Most Obnoxious Visiting Fans.
(SIDEBAR SOAPBOX: I have nothing against visiting fans. I have been one myself. I have made friends with visiting fans, most notably a very nice group of Detroiters, as well as we have made fans in other cities—San Diegans and Houstonians were all very nice. But when I visit another stadium, I am respectful of my place as a visitor. When I am in another city to see a game, I never refer to it as an “Orioles game”: If we are at an Orioles game played in San Francisco, it is a Giants game; if in Houston, it is an Astros game. To refer to another’s stadium as simply being the site of an “Orioles game” is disrespectful. You are a guest in that city: be polite. While I will cheer loudly for my team when they do something good, I do not smack talk the home team. I also do not lead cheers. In short, I am not an asshole. END OF SIDEBAR SOAPBOX.)
Then 2012 happened.
A magical run that turned my casual but steady fandom of this team into a full on obsession. Just before that season, my wife, who had possibly looked at my devotion to this team with loving but benign detachment, got on board. This was completely her idea and was not done with any coaxing from me and I love her for it. Suddenly she amassed a wealth of knowledge about all the Orioles personal stories, following them on Twitter and keeping up with up and coming stars. Whereas at one time I was driving the bus of the hopeless Oriole trip, now I have a partner in crime who rides with me and knows more about it than I do.
We followed that run all the way to the end. We had tickets and we endured the rain of the first two playoff games at home, yelled our heads off when we won Game 2; then we watched into the wee hours on TV, and even after finally losing to the Yankees in 5 games, I couldn’t help but be proud of my team, and their turnaround.
Now when I go to the home games and see the little Orioles highlight package of the last 60 years, culminating with the footage of the team celebrating on the field after the Wild Card win against Texas and the announcer saying “And the magical run of the Baltimore Orioles continues...” sometimes I have to stop myself from shedding a tear…
And Now…
I have met Orioles, gotten autographs, been interviewed by the TV news, travelled to other stadiums to follow the team, watched the standings, become the go-to guy at work for the answer to questions like "did we win last night?" and "who are we playing today?"…it is important to me in a way that is hard to explain to a non fan. Non fans can say “It’s just a game.” They are free to say that. But if it’s just a game, then it is a game that fills me with joy and exhilaration and dread and heartache and happiness and hope and pride and love. In short: all the things that make up life. The world is a fucked up place full of horrible things and assholes and unpleasantness and problems too big for me to make one damn bit of difference about. But baseball is solid, concrete, and in my view, one of the best diversions ever known to man. If I choose to care about this diversion, I at least keep my sanity and do not give in to the despair of the world.
Pride in a city, pride in a team, and an unwavering faith that one day (hopefully sooner rather than later) a team that I love will make it to the Promised Land have taken me full circle in my life as a baseball fan. While I have always followed the game, it has meant different things to me at different points in my life, and this is what it means now: a little pride, a little faith and a lot of love.
I have been a baseball fan all my life, an Orioles fan for 20 years. Rain or shine, good year or bad: that is what I am. I hope it all makes sense to you but I understand if it doesn’t.
Thank you for reading my words today.
July, 2014.
NOTES:
Things the non-hardcore baseball fan might need to know to understand some of my references:
1. The ball going through Buckner’s legs refers to a play in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. In extra innings, with a runner on second and the game tied, Mookie Wilson hit a weak ground ball down the first base side, which should have been an easy play for first baseman Bill Buckner, only it went just under his glove and into shallow right field, bringing home Ray Knight, the winning run from third base.
2. “The Bartman play” refers to a foul ball hit with one out in the 8th inning of Game 6 of the National League Championship, Chicago Cubs against the Florida Marlins in 2003. While several fans went for the ball, the unlucky young Steve Bartman was the one whose hand actually tipped the ball preventing any possibility of a catch by the left fielder. Failure to make this out led the Marlins to a huge rally to overcome the Cubs, win the game, force a Game 7, resulting in the Marlins going to the World Series, which they won. There is a GREAT movie about this called “Catching Hell,” which you can probably find on Netflix. Here is a clip of the play.
I grew up in Pittsfield Massachusetts, which in the eyes of most sports fans should place me as a Boston Red Sox fan. But Massachusetts is a bigger place than most people would assume. Often when people ask me “how far is Pittsfield from Boston?” I say “about 2 and a half hours or as far as you can get without actually leaving the state.” For while in fact the word “Massachusetts” would indicate that my loyalty should be to the home state, in actuality my region of the state was/is a triangulation of 3 separate TV markets, covering 3 separate teams: the aforementioned Boston Red Sox, the New York Yankees, and (if you really hate the Yankees but can’t stand rooting for the Sox) the New York Mets, the one New York team (in any sport) I couldn’t hate if I tried. Growing up in the 80’s, way before ESPN and MLB started dominating the baseball airwaves, I had The Boston Red Sox on WSBK out of Boston, the New York Yankees on WPIX out of New York, and The New York Mets out of WWOR, Secaucus, New Jersey. Realistically, I had a legitimate claim on any one of these teams as “home town” teams, since they were brought to my living room in equal measure. I mostly gravitated to the Sox and the Mets, since I didn’t care too much for the Yankees and they were terrible in the 80’s anyway.
Fair Weather Fan.
Growing up, I was a classic fair weather fan. My reasons for liking teams usually had to do with players I liked, or teams that were doing well.
The first year I started watching baseball was 1984, (the year after the Baltimore Orioles last won the World Series). I had a sticker book of 1983, which required me to buy sets of stickers that fit into that book into the appropriate slots. The packets of stickers were about 60 cents each and contained about 6 stickers with either a baseball player or a baseball scene from that year. Because that sticker book was my obsession that summer, I will always remember a few random things, like that Rick Dempsey was the 1983 World Series MVP, and that the Kansas City Royals finished at an 81-81 record.
But I had no one team I favored. I liked Dale Murphy, so I liked the Braves. I liked Carlton Fisk, who was playing for the White Sox. That year, I watched my first World Series, and I liked the Tigers, who beat the Padres in 5 games (it really was no contest, as that team was a powerhouse that year). The next year, Kansas City won it all, and I for whatever reason started wearing a Royals hat (that was ill-advised). I even rooted for the A’s the year they got beat by Kirk Gibson’s walk-off homerun in Game one of 1988…for a very limited time, at one point or another I had a different favorite team, possibly because I had yet to discover things like team loyalty and hometown pride or the nobility in suffering (like Cubs fans or the Red Sox fans of those days did). I was just a kid who didn’t know any better back then.
1986
But my one true year as a semi-devoted fan of any one particular team was 1986, when I fully backed my “native” Boston (“about 2 and a half hours or as far as you can get without actually leaving the state”) Red Sox…except when I was watching my equally native New York Mets, who were also quite good that year.
Boston had Dwight Evans, Rich Gedman, Roger Clemens, Calvin Shiraldi, Jim Rice, Bill Buckner, and a host of other people I can’t remember off the top of my head. The Mets had Wally Joyner, Len Dykstra, Ray Knight, Howard Johnson, Darryl Strawberry, Dwight Gooden, Ron Darling, Gary Carter, Tim Teufel (of the “Tuefel Shuffle”) George Foster, Mookie Wilson, all managed by Davey Johnson, one of the best managers in baseball…come to think of it, it’s possible I remember more about the Mets than the Sox… (I’m trying to write this without googling: these are just the names I remember…) 1986 was a great year for my dual fandom of these teams, as I pulled for and followed them all year as they began their collision course with one another in that classic World Series. I had to pick a side: I chose the Sox…those of us who were alive and conscious during the 80’s know exactly how that one worked out…
I didn’t actually see the ball go through Buckner’s legs; it all happened past my bedtime (I was 10). My dad told me about it the next morning, in kind of a foggy and confused way that lots of Sox fans felt the next morning. I probably didn’t feel it as intensely as other new Englanders. But when I watched Game 7 and my favorite relief pitcher that year, Calvin Shiraldi, got hammered by the Mets (I don’t actually know what happened, this is just how I remember it), my heart sank as surely as if I’d actually seen that ball go through Buckner’s legs. (My adult self knows what an overhyped error this was. But it will unfairly go down in the annals of scapegoating, along with the Bartman play of 2003. Please, Chicago, forgive that man. Alou would’ve never caught that thing anyway!)
Anyway, after that year I kind of lost interest in the Sox. I just wasn’t as committed as I thought I was. Other than my year I followed the Athletics in ’88, I moved on to other things, namely music and playing the drums in little band called Lampstand. I didn’t watch sports at all for almost 6 years…
Baltimore.
And the next thing you know, I grew up and moved to Baltimore. Where, as it turned out, my love of baseball was restored…
It didn’t happen right away. I moved during the ’94 strike year. I was 18. But sometime during the 1995 season, when some guy named Ripken was making his run toward history, playing in a record 2131 consecutive games, I worked at a deli that was about a half block away from the celebratory parade route for Mr. Ripken, which we were allowed to skip out of work to attend. The next years the team went on two exciting playoff runs that united the city behind them. Suddenly they were the most important thing going. It was during that period right before the Ravens came to town and took primary ownership of the sports attention in Baltimore. In ’97, when the O’s went wire to wire, I remember being in a math class at my Community College, in another Game 6…people running out every other few minutes to check on the score (if this were today, I could have just followed along on my phone). And…the O’s losing to Cleveland in a heartbreaker…
Unlike those games of ten years earlier, this was in my city, my beautiful adopted home city, one I was proud to call home. I moved for my own reasons, but one of which was to be my own person, to assert my independence in a new place where things were fresh and exciting to me. I’ve always seen Baltimore with outsider’s eyes, and I’ve always felt like this was a gift. I love the people, the neighborhoods, the great many things to do, the fact that even now after 20 years I still discover new parks and parts of town I never knew existed, and even more, I love my teams. And while I have learned to love my Ravens (2 Super Bowls makes it easy), I love my Orioles just a little bit more…
The Dark Years.
Yeah, any O’s fan remembers the years between 1998 and 2011. We sucked. Gotta own it: if I refer to an Orioles win by saying “We Won!” I also have to be able to say “We lost.” after a loss. We sucked. Really, really, really, fucking sucked.
This team certainly spent a lot of time punishing me for turning my back on what should have been my childhood team. Watching the Red Sox win 3 World Championships may seem like punishment for not sticking with them. But at the same time, I am not that person anymore. I could no more call myself a Red Sox fan than I could stop breathing or singing in the shower or yelling “moo!” at cows on the side of the road, or yelling “puppy!” whenever I see a puppy. It’s just not me.
Even the Dark Years had their moments. I actually attended my first big league game in 1998. It was the O’s vs the Chicago White Sox, Mark Buehrle was pitching and I think Jose Canseco was still playing. I know that we lost. But I had so much fun going, I kind of didn’t care. My buddy’s dad took a group of us, bought us beers, and as we sat out on beautiful night of mediocre baseball, he seriously questioned why we’d all never done this before?
I really didn’t have an answer for that. But if it had taken me 23 years to finally make it to a big league game, I certainly have made up for that in the years since…
But these were the Dark years of multiple managers and ownership interference and stupid decisions and Albert Belle and losing Mike Mussina and a cover article in a national sports magazine detailing how bad and poorly mismanaged my team was. Things were so bad that a grass roots fan protest was organized: there was a mass walkout during a game, to protest the poor team play and the poor management that had led us into this horrible stretch. I wasn’t a part of that, but I wanted to be.
2012. Buck, and Why I continue to love baseball and the O’s.
Then Buck happened.
Buck Showalter taking over this team at the end of 2010 was the beginning of a sea change in Baltimore. After many years of many different managers, it finally looked like the ownership was getting serious when they hired Buck. The newspaper began printing the O’s record under Buck. And even though it was way late in the season and we were way out of the pennant race, Buck gave us reason to talk about the O’s.
My wife and I love Buck. We watch his press conferences, laugh at his gentle humor; bask in the glow of his simple wisdom. Buck gives us our little moment of Zen, every day. Nothing makes us feel better after a loss than listening to his long-view take on everything. And nothing grounds me more as a fan after a win then understanding his long-view. Baseball is a long season, 162 games a year. One win or win loss isn’t then end of the world, nor is it a reason to think too much of yourself. No matter what, Buck is in charge, and any success the team achieves is surely the result of his leadership, something we had lacked for so many years. One day there will be a statue of him out there past left/centerfield. I just know it.
Then the curse of the Andino happened.
Another major event involving the Boston Red Sox that I didn’t actually see. This was still during what can be considered the Dark Years. I only actually read about it on Facebook, and in spite of my lagging interest in my adopted home team, I at last was able to express pride in them for knocking out the Red Sox on the last day of the 2011 season. The Red Sox, a team whose fans had been invading our stadium for years and possibly edging out traveling New Yorkers for the title of Most Obnoxious Visiting Fans.
(SIDEBAR SOAPBOX: I have nothing against visiting fans. I have been one myself. I have made friends with visiting fans, most notably a very nice group of Detroiters, as well as we have made fans in other cities—San Diegans and Houstonians were all very nice. But when I visit another stadium, I am respectful of my place as a visitor. When I am in another city to see a game, I never refer to it as an “Orioles game”: If we are at an Orioles game played in San Francisco, it is a Giants game; if in Houston, it is an Astros game. To refer to another’s stadium as simply being the site of an “Orioles game” is disrespectful. You are a guest in that city: be polite. While I will cheer loudly for my team when they do something good, I do not smack talk the home team. I also do not lead cheers. In short, I am not an asshole. END OF SIDEBAR SOAPBOX.)
Then 2012 happened.
A magical run that turned my casual but steady fandom of this team into a full on obsession. Just before that season, my wife, who had possibly looked at my devotion to this team with loving but benign detachment, got on board. This was completely her idea and was not done with any coaxing from me and I love her for it. Suddenly she amassed a wealth of knowledge about all the Orioles personal stories, following them on Twitter and keeping up with up and coming stars. Whereas at one time I was driving the bus of the hopeless Oriole trip, now I have a partner in crime who rides with me and knows more about it than I do.
We followed that run all the way to the end. We had tickets and we endured the rain of the first two playoff games at home, yelled our heads off when we won Game 2; then we watched into the wee hours on TV, and even after finally losing to the Yankees in 5 games, I couldn’t help but be proud of my team, and their turnaround.
Now when I go to the home games and see the little Orioles highlight package of the last 60 years, culminating with the footage of the team celebrating on the field after the Wild Card win against Texas and the announcer saying “And the magical run of the Baltimore Orioles continues...” sometimes I have to stop myself from shedding a tear…
And Now…
I have met Orioles, gotten autographs, been interviewed by the TV news, travelled to other stadiums to follow the team, watched the standings, become the go-to guy at work for the answer to questions like "did we win last night?" and "who are we playing today?"…it is important to me in a way that is hard to explain to a non fan. Non fans can say “It’s just a game.” They are free to say that. But if it’s just a game, then it is a game that fills me with joy and exhilaration and dread and heartache and happiness and hope and pride and love. In short: all the things that make up life. The world is a fucked up place full of horrible things and assholes and unpleasantness and problems too big for me to make one damn bit of difference about. But baseball is solid, concrete, and in my view, one of the best diversions ever known to man. If I choose to care about this diversion, I at least keep my sanity and do not give in to the despair of the world.
Pride in a city, pride in a team, and an unwavering faith that one day (hopefully sooner rather than later) a team that I love will make it to the Promised Land have taken me full circle in my life as a baseball fan. While I have always followed the game, it has meant different things to me at different points in my life, and this is what it means now: a little pride, a little faith and a lot of love.
I have been a baseball fan all my life, an Orioles fan for 20 years. Rain or shine, good year or bad: that is what I am. I hope it all makes sense to you but I understand if it doesn’t.
Thank you for reading my words today.
July, 2014.
NOTES:
Things the non-hardcore baseball fan might need to know to understand some of my references:
1. The ball going through Buckner’s legs refers to a play in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. In extra innings, with a runner on second and the game tied, Mookie Wilson hit a weak ground ball down the first base side, which should have been an easy play for first baseman Bill Buckner, only it went just under his glove and into shallow right field, bringing home Ray Knight, the winning run from third base.
2. “The Bartman play” refers to a foul ball hit with one out in the 8th inning of Game 6 of the National League Championship, Chicago Cubs against the Florida Marlins in 2003. While several fans went for the ball, the unlucky young Steve Bartman was the one whose hand actually tipped the ball preventing any possibility of a catch by the left fielder. Failure to make this out led the Marlins to a huge rally to overcome the Cubs, win the game, force a Game 7, resulting in the Marlins going to the World Series, which they won. There is a GREAT movie about this called “Catching Hell,” which you can probably find on Netflix. Here is a clip of the play.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
How to Become a Famous Writer...a review
How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead: Your Words in Print and Your Name in Lights by Ariel GoreMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But Dave…you are a writer! Yeah…but I’m not a famous writer. I have to admit, the sheer brazen nature of this book appealed to me. The act of self-promotion requires an incredible amount of confidence--or at least the great ability to fake it. In this book, author Ariel Gore advocates all manner of self-promotion and creativity in the attempt to make a name for yourself. In many ways, this could serve as a companion piece to my other favorite book about writing, No Plot, No Problem, by the founder of National Novel Writing Month, Chris Baty, which also advocates plowing ahead beyond self-doubt to do the wonderfully ridiculous act of writing a 50 thousand word novel in 30 days. The best advice any writer can ever get is simply to write. Write every day. Write even when you don’t feel like it.
Ariel Gore starts the book with a powerful hook: a letter from a friend, who wants her help in the quest to become a famous writer. Gore says she will help her, that they should meet and have coffee and talk about how she can help her become a literary superstar. But of course, life gets in the way, and before they can ever get together to talk, her friend has a seizure and dies, at age 23. All the advice in this book is what she would have said to her if they had ever had that meeting.
The book itself is a rollicking run through the craft of writing and self-promoting, and is an inspirational tribute to her friend, the writer. It is less of a step by step/how to manual and more of a motivational piece--though, to be sure, there is a lot of solid advice here, and many things I might have never thought of--such as why a large advance is not necessarily a good thing or why you shouldn’t change your name or why you should be nice to interns.
I recommend this to any writer who needs a kick in the butt, or anyone who just needs to be reminded that all art is worth the struggle.
View all my reviews
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
My Gentle Plug for Others to Join Me on Next Month’s Quest.
I always introduce myself as a writer and sort-of musician, and now I add to that, a ramp agent. And as a writer, sort of musician, and ramp agent who writes about being a ramp agent, I am going to use my little forum to invite anyone interested to do something that I have been doing for the last 2 years.
The National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is an event that is now in its 12th year. It is a fun exercise in what founder Chris Baty calls “exuberant imperfection,” or in other words, writing a 50 thousand word novel in only 30 days--during the month of November. More info here: http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/whatisnano
It’s hard, it’s messy, it seems impossible. But it is possible, and what’s more, it is so much fun that I can’t possibly imagine ever going a year without doing it.
November is already my favorite month of the year, with my birthday (the 19th!), football season, the leaves changing, Thanksgiving (along with the Fourth of July, my favorite holiday), and add to that the 30 day sprint to 50 thousand words. And I’m especially excited for this year, because my new job has introduced me to so many people and so many new situations (as my lovely wife said it would when she encouraged me to take this job!) that I think I have a whole new well of inspiration to draw from.
The first year I did it, I came up with the book I called The Best of Thunder Johnson, a story about a cable access employee who accidentally broadcasts a porno movie over the air and then becomes the focus of a disturbed mental patient’s rage. It was fun, it was inspired, and overall I am happy with the final result. It is a story that would never have been possible had I not put forth the effort to write so much in so little time, even if the original product was a complete mess.
I encourage anyone out there to try this with me. You say you don’t have time, that no one can possibly do a good job on a novel in such a short time? That’s half the point! It’s actually more fun to do things like this when you have less time. Because that way, the time you spend writing becomes sacred, and more meaningful, and dare I say, more meditative. It creates a break from the busy world you inhabit. And besides, sleep is overrated.
So do this with me: write a novel. Be my writing buddy! Writing starts November 1!
The National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is an event that is now in its 12th year. It is a fun exercise in what founder Chris Baty calls “exuberant imperfection,” or in other words, writing a 50 thousand word novel in only 30 days--during the month of November. More info here: http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/whatisnano
It’s hard, it’s messy, it seems impossible. But it is possible, and what’s more, it is so much fun that I can’t possibly imagine ever going a year without doing it.
November is already my favorite month of the year, with my birthday (the 19th!), football season, the leaves changing, Thanksgiving (along with the Fourth of July, my favorite holiday), and add to that the 30 day sprint to 50 thousand words. And I’m especially excited for this year, because my new job has introduced me to so many people and so many new situations (as my lovely wife said it would when she encouraged me to take this job!) that I think I have a whole new well of inspiration to draw from.
The first year I did it, I came up with the book I called The Best of Thunder Johnson, a story about a cable access employee who accidentally broadcasts a porno movie over the air and then becomes the focus of a disturbed mental patient’s rage. It was fun, it was inspired, and overall I am happy with the final result. It is a story that would never have been possible had I not put forth the effort to write so much in so little time, even if the original product was a complete mess.
I encourage anyone out there to try this with me. You say you don’t have time, that no one can possibly do a good job on a novel in such a short time? That’s half the point! It’s actually more fun to do things like this when you have less time. Because that way, the time you spend writing becomes sacred, and more meaningful, and dare I say, more meditative. It creates a break from the busy world you inhabit. And besides, sleep is overrated.
So do this with me: write a novel. Be my writing buddy! Writing starts November 1!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Update: request for new trial to fight unfairly high parking fine!
Still trying to fight the $102 parking fine, on the basis that it is unfairly high. They gave me a trial date that I couldn't make. I requested a new date. This is their letter in response:
They usually make it so that it is too difficult to even bother fighting. They assume that most people have day jobs and that they won't bother losing pay to fight the ticket. Not me: I plan to be a big pain in the ass to Baltimore City, who makes her residents put up with a lot of shit in this area. Is the penalty for parking ever worth $102 dollars? Does the punishment fit the crime?
I don't think so.
They usually make it so that it is too difficult to even bother fighting. They assume that most people have day jobs and that they won't bother losing pay to fight the ticket. Not me: I plan to be a big pain in the ass to Baltimore City, who makes her residents put up with a lot of shit in this area. Is the penalty for parking ever worth $102 dollars? Does the punishment fit the crime?
I don't think so.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
quick thought about writing...
I’m reading over my last year's somewhat forgotten NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) novel, which I tentatively titled “The Self-Affirmator.” And I think I have given it short shrift by not editing it. As I read over this raw manuscript, I’m finding myself loving it and hating it at the same time, but somewhere in there is a story that I like. I guess I’m thinking about it because the next NaNoWriMo is upcoming, and I’m excited about it.
I look at what I came up with last year as a really hard-fought victory which I rewarded myself by…failing to follow through. I know I’ve been busy and all that, with home improvements that have taken up my work space, with job changes that have kept me…well, working. And that, coupled with an ambivalence about my writing has let this sit on the shelf. And you know what? It shouldn’t. Writing is about committing to the work, believing in yourself and the power of your work.
On my wall hangs a great quote: “Those seeking success in their writing must, above all, be prepared for the long haul, with unflinching commitment to their work…as with a broken heart, there is no therapy but going forward.”*
I should look at my wall more often.
*from Writer's Journal--when I have time I'll make sure to credit this properly, 'k?
I look at what I came up with last year as a really hard-fought victory which I rewarded myself by…failing to follow through. I know I’ve been busy and all that, with home improvements that have taken up my work space, with job changes that have kept me…well, working. And that, coupled with an ambivalence about my writing has let this sit on the shelf. And you know what? It shouldn’t. Writing is about committing to the work, believing in yourself and the power of your work.
On my wall hangs a great quote: “Those seeking success in their writing must, above all, be prepared for the long haul, with unflinching commitment to their work…as with a broken heart, there is no therapy but going forward.”*
I should look at my wall more often.
*from Writer's Journal--when I have time I'll make sure to credit this properly, 'k?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
September 14, 2010.
September 14, 2010.
To : District Court of Maryland
CC: Baltimore City Parking Fines Section.
Enclosed is a copy of my notice to stand trial in the case of parking violation number 9******. I am requesting a new trial date because the trial date of September 17, for which I was notified by letter on September 13, is much too short notice to get off of work. Please grant me a new trial date so that I have time to arrange to have off. Thank you for your attention in this matter.
David Cookson
Baltimore, MD
21211
To : District Court of Maryland
CC: Baltimore City Parking Fines Section.
Enclosed is a copy of my notice to stand trial in the case of parking violation number 9******. I am requesting a new trial date because the trial date of September 17, for which I was notified by letter on September 13, is much too short notice to get off of work. Please grant me a new trial date so that I have time to arrange to have off. Thank you for your attention in this matter.
David Cookson
Baltimore, MD
21211
Friday, September 03, 2010
I'm fighting my $102 parking ticket...
Tuesday was a much needed day off where I took care of many of the ordinary things I used to take for granted. When it came time for dinner, I jumped in the car and headed down toward the stadium to Potbelly’s (a wonderful Chicago-based sandwich joint which utterly destroys the swill they serve at Subway). Usually when we are down that way for an O’s game, I park for free in a secret spot (okay: I used to live in that neighborhood, so it’s not really so secret.) But for whatever reason I got down there and parked somewhere else. Hell, I was only going to be picking up some sandwiches, it wasn’t like I was parking for the game…
I took the short walk down to the sandwich place, picked up our food, plus lunch for tomorrow, and when I returned no more than 20 minutes later, the three cars on the street were getting ticketed: including mine.
It’s been awhile, I thought. I guess I was due. I turned it over to see what the damage was: $102! For parking in a stadium zone!
I felt myself going through the six stages of grief, already firmly in stage 1: denial. How was this possible? I was away for 20 minutes! I’d been parking down here forever, on the other side of the street, and never had a problem. But now, because I was silly enough to put it on the “odd” side, I got a massive, unrealistically large sum of $102. The only good part about this was that I had made it back early enough to avoid the tow truck, which was already taking the other wayward parked cars on the street.
I’ve been going over in my head what $102 means to me: how many bags I have to stack to make that, how much overtime, how many hours that is for me...and it hurts. I just don’t see how what I did warrants that level of a ticket. I can accept the occasional $27 for an expired meter, maybe even a $42 for parking in a two hour zone for three hours. But $102 for 20 minutes? It really seems excessive. And that is why I am going to court to fight this.
Anytime I get a ticket, I always defiantly claim stuff like “I’m gonna fight this with every last ounce of strength left in my body!” only to give in to the eventual apathy and just pay the stupid fine. But now, I’m actually going to do it.
I’ve put in a request for a trial, if for no better reason than because I feel I have nothing to lose. My argument is simple: the fine is excessive. If I have to pay it then I have to pay it. But living in Baltimore City is painful enough: high crime, a crappy baseball team, awful traffic, bad public transportation, corruption at City Hall…I think it’s time to stand up and make someone justify this to me. The worst that can happen is the judge tells me to shut up and pay the stupid fine. But maybe, just maybe I will prevail...
Has anyone out there ever challenged a parking ticket? I want to hear from you!
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Books: With Garlic and Victory
WIth Garlic and Victory by J. M. I. KaganMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Disclosure: Author is a long-time friend of mine, and I am familiar with many of the real-life characters upon which his material is drawn.
With Garlic and Victory is (to my knowledge) Josh’s second book, and it’s work would appear to have been written/collected in the last 8-10 years. It is an enjoyable read, with a mixture of stories and blank verse poems which read like stories, reminiscent of the work of Charles Bukowski. Josh is painfully honest about himself in his writing, and his depictions of his life as a poor, beer-drinking, coffee-swilling artist who has made a career out of working in kitchens, are tremendously entertaining and truthful.
“So why do you want to work here?” he stretched out on the seat, arms folded, his face betrayed the countenance of a man suffering with hot grease on his balls and a spatula broken off in his ass…
“Well, I’m new in town and times are hard, so…”
“Well, as an employer, it’s hard to hear I was your last resort…listen, I can take one look at you and see you won’t fit in here…”
“THAT’S IT? You called me all the way out here for a two minute interview hoping I’d tell you my dream in life, my true aspiration was to flip burgers? What kind of asshole are you?”
I walked out.
In many ways I consider Josh’s work a throwback--his work would be perfectly at home in Depression era fiction: the story of a factotum just trying to survive. The opening story about trying to get a job in a restaurant in Portland, only to fail because the boss didn’t think he would be a proper ass-kisser, and the story about donating plasma for money are sad reminders of a rough time for the both of us (something we both did when we lived in Portland) but it is very in-line with the rest of the themes running through With Garlic and Victory: Everything is bullshit--and work is just a means to an end to put food on the table and beer in the fridge while keeping your soul intact. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is a goddamn liar.
At 85 pages, this book that breezes right along. I’d have read the whole thing in one sitting if I could have. Great job!
View all my reviews >>
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Books: Why Darwin Matters
Why Darwin Matters: The Case Against Intelligent Design by Michael ShermerMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
A breezy read through all the arguments you will ever need to argue with any proponent of Intelligent Design. This book, written by the head of the National Skeptics Society, pretty much lays bare all the arguments used against evolution in the name of equal time or “teaching the controversy” of (essentially) creationism vs. evolution. Science has a process: Intelligent Design has an agenda. As Shermer concludes, “Darwin Matters because evolution matters. Evolution matters because science matters. Science matters because it is the pre-eminent story of our age, an epic saga about who we are, where we came from and where we are going.” (P. 161) ‘Nuff said.
View all my reviews >>
Monday, June 07, 2010
DGK10 at the Sidebar this Saturday!!!
Are you up for a Davey G show?
Did you miss the last one?
This Saturday! On the eve of my new career outside of the food service industry, the Sidebar hosts the second
Davey G and the Keyboard 10th Anniversary Show!
We all had so much fun last month at the first DGK10 show, and many of you came out and had a great time. But maybe some of you couldn’t make it. And some of you really missed the presence of Man-Friend: the Davey G Tribute band. Well, here’s our chance to make it right, and celebrate ten years of Davey G and the Keyboard.
Saturday, June 12
The Sidebar
218 E. Lexington Street
Davey G and the Keyboard
The Mandroids
Rare Candy
Markitect
4th Grade Security Risk
…And the return of
Man-Friend (The Davey G tribute band)
Doors at 9 p.m. Hope to see you there!!!
--Davey G.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
My “retirement” from the Food Service Industry
(The first post in what will soon be a blog that will be separate from this one)
Friday I gave my two weeks notice from a job I have held for the better part of 9 and a half years to embark upon something else, something entirely different than the jobs I have been doing since the time I was 18.
Food service, I say to you, it’s been fun…
In 1994 I moved to Maryland from my parents' home and started upon a long “career” of sorts in the food service industry. This was after spending 2 years at a fairly cushy high school job (the public library) but then needing the freedom and independence and even more desperately needing to get out of my hometown and find a better life.
And that led me to fall into the quick and easy gainful employment (whatever that means) of the service industry, with the jobs that are easy to get, but oh so painful and unrewarding.
But I was lucky. After a false start at a bakery at the tourist-y Inner Harbor in Baltimore (personal note: beware of any new occupation that requires you to buy tan pants) where I was asked, quite seriously, “Where’s your smile???”, I found a job at a deli downtown. (Okay, actually, the bakery let me go, which might technically be the one and only time I was ever “let go”--like a turd--from a job…I believe my manager’s exact words were “I think you might be better off looking for another job.” I can probably talk about this later. Anyway…)
I walked into a little deli and asked if they were looking for “counter help.” They were, and though it was a tough job with a fairly demanding boss and initially low pay, I survived an early push to sack me (I’m a slow learner and up to that point had very little food service experience.) I wound up thriving in an environment that turned out to be very nurturing and comfortable. The boss who wanted to fire me wound up looking at me as a surrogate son…admittedly, this is not a relationship I am entirely comfortable with, but it allowed her to be more forgiving of my shortcomings. I stayed there an astonishing 6 years before I jumped on an offer to work at my favorite drinking hole, the Irish Pub. After 6 years, I left the deli, free of what had at times been a very trying experience, but one that I was happy to have had. I said “I’m never going to do that again,” meaning I would never stay so long at a job like that.
9 and a half years later...
Oh, I love the pub. I have worked there through the entire Bush Administration. I was there on 9/11. I watched Super Bowls, worked St. Patty’s Days, made many friends, watched more than 40 servers come and go, cooked many hundreds of burgers, cleaned the toilets many hundreds of times, and washed countless dishes…but almost more importantly, The Pub has been a constant in my life. When I started, I was single. At the end, I am married. I went through girlfriends, rental properties, cars, friends, acquaintances, people I never want to see ever again, and all the while the Pub was still there, a constant presence in my life. It is an anomaly in a business that is by nature volatile and uncertain: a restaurant that has been open and under the same ownership for almost 30 years. It is not run by some crazy iron-fisted autocratic despot, like you are used to seeing on the Food Network or in big restaurants. It is instead run simply by Bill, who could never be called autocratic. Hard work and the luck of the Irish have been with Bill and his wonderful family, and he somehow makes it work. I have been there for the Pub, and it has been there for me.
And now, after all this time, almost 16 years in the food service industry (some jobs I have yet to mention that may have fallen through the cracks: Produce clerk, Pizza delivery man, I was a prep cook for three days at a job I was ill-suited for both in skills and mentally, I washed dishes at a crazy busy breakfast place) I am proud to yell from the mountaintops the one thing I have wanted to say for years:
I am retiring from the Food Service industry!
Oh, okay…don’t burn your bridges, never say never, yeah, I get it. But I’m 34 years old, and for various reasons I will explore shortly, I need this part of my life to end. And now, thanks to a fortuitous series of events, I am about to embark on a career change, one that takes me hopefully quite far from the reality of the kitchen/deli counter/dish room/what have you.
Meet the new me. Davey G: Ramp Agent for Southwest Airlines.
Stand by…
Friday I gave my two weeks notice from a job I have held for the better part of 9 and a half years to embark upon something else, something entirely different than the jobs I have been doing since the time I was 18.
Food service, I say to you, it’s been fun…
In 1994 I moved to Maryland from my parents' home and started upon a long “career” of sorts in the food service industry. This was after spending 2 years at a fairly cushy high school job (the public library) but then needing the freedom and independence and even more desperately needing to get out of my hometown and find a better life.
And that led me to fall into the quick and easy gainful employment (whatever that means) of the service industry, with the jobs that are easy to get, but oh so painful and unrewarding.
But I was lucky. After a false start at a bakery at the tourist-y Inner Harbor in Baltimore (personal note: beware of any new occupation that requires you to buy tan pants) where I was asked, quite seriously, “Where’s your smile???”, I found a job at a deli downtown. (Okay, actually, the bakery let me go, which might technically be the one and only time I was ever “let go”--like a turd--from a job…I believe my manager’s exact words were “I think you might be better off looking for another job.” I can probably talk about this later. Anyway…)
I walked into a little deli and asked if they were looking for “counter help.” They were, and though it was a tough job with a fairly demanding boss and initially low pay, I survived an early push to sack me (I’m a slow learner and up to that point had very little food service experience.) I wound up thriving in an environment that turned out to be very nurturing and comfortable. The boss who wanted to fire me wound up looking at me as a surrogate son…admittedly, this is not a relationship I am entirely comfortable with, but it allowed her to be more forgiving of my shortcomings. I stayed there an astonishing 6 years before I jumped on an offer to work at my favorite drinking hole, the Irish Pub. After 6 years, I left the deli, free of what had at times been a very trying experience, but one that I was happy to have had. I said “I’m never going to do that again,” meaning I would never stay so long at a job like that.
9 and a half years later...
Oh, I love the pub. I have worked there through the entire Bush Administration. I was there on 9/11. I watched Super Bowls, worked St. Patty’s Days, made many friends, watched more than 40 servers come and go, cooked many hundreds of burgers, cleaned the toilets many hundreds of times, and washed countless dishes…but almost more importantly, The Pub has been a constant in my life. When I started, I was single. At the end, I am married. I went through girlfriends, rental properties, cars, friends, acquaintances, people I never want to see ever again, and all the while the Pub was still there, a constant presence in my life. It is an anomaly in a business that is by nature volatile and uncertain: a restaurant that has been open and under the same ownership for almost 30 years. It is not run by some crazy iron-fisted autocratic despot, like you are used to seeing on the Food Network or in big restaurants. It is instead run simply by Bill, who could never be called autocratic. Hard work and the luck of the Irish have been with Bill and his wonderful family, and he somehow makes it work. I have been there for the Pub, and it has been there for me.
And now, after all this time, almost 16 years in the food service industry (some jobs I have yet to mention that may have fallen through the cracks: Produce clerk, Pizza delivery man, I was a prep cook for three days at a job I was ill-suited for both in skills and mentally, I washed dishes at a crazy busy breakfast place) I am proud to yell from the mountaintops the one thing I have wanted to say for years:
I am retiring from the Food Service industry!
Oh, okay…don’t burn your bridges, never say never, yeah, I get it. But I’m 34 years old, and for various reasons I will explore shortly, I need this part of my life to end. And now, thanks to a fortuitous series of events, I am about to embark on a career change, one that takes me hopefully quite far from the reality of the kitchen/deli counter/dish room/what have you.
Meet the new me. Davey G: Ramp Agent for Southwest Airlines.
Stand by…
Monday, May 24, 2010
DGK10 show recap.
(Pictured: Me, Scott Alexander, Paperback Tragedy, and the Pfisters)
One of the best compliments I can ever get for a show I put on has almost nothing to do with my actual performance. It is something that I might overhear someone saying but that is never actually said to me: “Wow, this is a really weird crowd.” Weird, as in, the people you see at this show would most likely never be at the same place at the same time anywhere else but at a Davey G show. To me it is fun to get groups of people who may like pop-punk hanging out with hard-core fans or fans of comedy of just plain well-wishers, friends, girlfriends, wives, etc. There’s bands and people that I like who don’t all fit into the same mold, and that’s really what this show was about for me.
The Davey G and the Keyboard 10th Anniversary Show at the Windup was a very personal show for me. In addition to celebrating 10 years of something this monumental, it also coincides with a major change in my life: a new job in a completely non-food service related area (more on this in an upcoming blog). I can’t lie--getting up and announcing this to the crowd and getting such a wildly positive reaction made me more happy than I thought possible. My words were heartfelt, my thanks are real. As I said toward the end of my set, this was not a Davey G and the Keyboard retirement show, just the marking of an occasion.
For the record: I played 22 songs, plus an encore. 10 songs were from the “Generica” album. The songs “Lost in the misery,” “Bowl Games,” “Boppity Bop,” “You Just Made My List” and “Why Must We Wear Pants?” are songs that I probably haven’t played live since the very beginning, and “Nervous Breakdown” and “Theme From a Sci-Fi Discussion Show” are songs that I’ve never played live. I borrowed my closing line from the late Frank Zappa: “Good Night, Baltimore, wherever you are!”
Wild Bonerz opened, filling in for the late cancellation of Man-Friend. Scott Alexander, Paperback Tragedy, and the Pfisters all rocked with reckless abandon, and I thank them all for doing so.
Thanks to everyone who came out, and hope to see you at the next one!
--Davey G.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Rambling words about Davey G and the Keyboard a fortnight before the Davey G and the Keyboard 10 Year Anniversary Show (a short series) Part 2.
Part two of two. Read part one.
For my 10 year anniversary as Davey G and the Keyboard, initially I had pictured doing one big show with a dozen bands and maybe making it an all day thing. Quickly I realized that this would not be desirable for anyone. It’s very hard to expect people to stick around for 12 or so bands and then face the very real possibility of it all backfiring for me, the “headliner,” as all but the most dedicated fans run out of gas before I’ve even started.
Instead, I chose the two-date option, with bands or parts of bands that I have played with over the past 10 years.
Which now gets me to those bands…
Pfisters. I haven’t actually played with them, but Darren and all the Sidebar crew have been stalwart supporters of Davey G over the last several years and I really appreciate that. Ditto for Matty of the Mandroids, with whom I have played twice, both times at Free Comic Book Day at the Collector’s Corner.
Paperback Tragedy has been there pretty much since the beginning, when they were still known as Brat. Will West is kind of a personal hero--he’s a true musician who plugs away year after year, true to his craft and a great guy to boot. Him and Paperback Tragedy get nothing but respect from me.
Scott Alexander and I go back to 2005, when we met at the Talking Head Club Gong Show. Since then we have shared a stage or two or three, and he recently appeared on the People’s Court and won.
Man Friend, the Davey G tribute band…what can I say? Ken and Co. have put together a tribute band in my honor. I honestly can’t wait to hear what my songs will sound like coming from someone else.
http://www.maximumsciencefiction.com/
Rare Candy’s brand of video game music has been a great fit for any bill I have been on. Ditto for Markitect’s brand of solo indy rock. A friend of mine is convinced that 4th Grade Security Risk is the best band name ever. Can’t argue with that.
Common questions people tend to ask me:
So…where do you perform?
I have performed many times at the Sidebar and the Windup Space. In the past, I have played the Ottobar (back when it was on Davis Street), I frequently played The Talking Head (ditto), and Winchester’s Comedy Club. at Source of the Nile (Pittsfield, now defunct), Spotlighter’s Theatre, Metro Gallery, Lionheart Café (Albany), Schenectady Cable Access, Hampshire College, a couple shows at Once Twice Sound and at Free Comic Book Day in Parkville, and for a time back in ’01 I had the Davey G Variety Show at Winchester’s for a couple of shows.
Dave, I know your middle name doesn’t begin with a “G.” What gives?
“G” is a tribute to Warren G. Harding, one of the greatest President of our age. I have no idea, it’s just a name I chose long ago and it happens to rhyme with a lot of words.
What’s with the lotion?
You gotta stay smooth in this business…
Actually, I did it at the very first show, and it stuck. It just always gets a reaction. I used to use a fresh bottle for every show, then I started watering it down, which makes it much messier-looking and far more effective. And if you don’t have any idea of what I’m talking about…
Dave, you have so many great songs: what’s your favorite?
Great question! Very insightful! I love all my songs like they were my children. I’d like to believe that at any one time during the show, I am playing somebody’s favorite song. From a performance perspective, I like Wash the Dish. From a personal listening perspective, I’d go with either Milwaukee or I Wanna Be a Real Musician--I’m especially proud of that one because it’s one song that doesn’t use a pre-set and also I play drums on it.
Most popular song?
Man Friend, hands down. A lot of people tell me they like one song or another, but everyone seems to like Man Friend.
I like that flyer better than I like you: Who made it?
That flyer was made by Mr. Alex Fine. He does excellent work: this is the third flyer he has made for me. When I see he has done such great work for a show I’m doing, I feel a great need to raise my game and do the best show ever. Here’s his info. www.facebook.com/alexfineillustration
So it’s been 10 years: What’s next?
Difficult to say…I will keep performing and making new songs. I have been doing a lot of writing, with a book out in zine form and others in the works. I just want to create, perform and enjoy my life. Odds are, if you are in touch with me either personally or over various social media, you will know about what I will be doing next.
http://www.facebook.com/daveygandthekeyboard
http://twitter.com/daveygandthe
Anything else?
Come to the Davey G and the Keyboard 10th !!!
Saturday, May 22 at the Windup Space!
And
Saturday, June 12 at the Sidebar!
Thanks for reading! Hope to see you at the show!
--Davey G.
For my 10 year anniversary as Davey G and the Keyboard, initially I had pictured doing one big show with a dozen bands and maybe making it an all day thing. Quickly I realized that this would not be desirable for anyone. It’s very hard to expect people to stick around for 12 or so bands and then face the very real possibility of it all backfiring for me, the “headliner,” as all but the most dedicated fans run out of gas before I’ve even started.
Instead, I chose the two-date option, with bands or parts of bands that I have played with over the past 10 years.
Which now gets me to those bands…
Pfisters. I haven’t actually played with them, but Darren and all the Sidebar crew have been stalwart supporters of Davey G over the last several years and I really appreciate that. Ditto for Matty of the Mandroids, with whom I have played twice, both times at Free Comic Book Day at the Collector’s Corner.
Paperback Tragedy has been there pretty much since the beginning, when they were still known as Brat. Will West is kind of a personal hero--he’s a true musician who plugs away year after year, true to his craft and a great guy to boot. Him and Paperback Tragedy get nothing but respect from me.
Scott Alexander and I go back to 2005, when we met at the Talking Head Club Gong Show. Since then we have shared a stage or two or three, and he recently appeared on the People’s Court and won.
Man Friend, the Davey G tribute band…what can I say? Ken and Co. have put together a tribute band in my honor. I honestly can’t wait to hear what my songs will sound like coming from someone else.
http://www.maximumsciencefiction.com/
Rare Candy’s brand of video game music has been a great fit for any bill I have been on. Ditto for Markitect’s brand of solo indy rock. A friend of mine is convinced that 4th Grade Security Risk is the best band name ever. Can’t argue with that.
Common questions people tend to ask me:
So…where do you perform?
I have performed many times at the Sidebar and the Windup Space. In the past, I have played the Ottobar (back when it was on Davis Street), I frequently played The Talking Head (ditto), and Winchester’s Comedy Club. at Source of the Nile (Pittsfield, now defunct), Spotlighter’s Theatre, Metro Gallery, Lionheart Café (Albany), Schenectady Cable Access, Hampshire College, a couple shows at Once Twice Sound and at Free Comic Book Day in Parkville, and for a time back in ’01 I had the Davey G Variety Show at Winchester’s for a couple of shows.
Dave, I know your middle name doesn’t begin with a “G.” What gives?
“G” is a tribute to Warren G. Harding, one of the greatest President of our age. I have no idea, it’s just a name I chose long ago and it happens to rhyme with a lot of words.
What’s with the lotion?
You gotta stay smooth in this business…
Actually, I did it at the very first show, and it stuck. It just always gets a reaction. I used to use a fresh bottle for every show, then I started watering it down, which makes it much messier-looking and far more effective. And if you don’t have any idea of what I’m talking about…
Dave, you have so many great songs: what’s your favorite?
Great question! Very insightful! I love all my songs like they were my children. I’d like to believe that at any one time during the show, I am playing somebody’s favorite song. From a performance perspective, I like Wash the Dish. From a personal listening perspective, I’d go with either Milwaukee or I Wanna Be a Real Musician--I’m especially proud of that one because it’s one song that doesn’t use a pre-set and also I play drums on it.
Most popular song?
Man Friend, hands down. A lot of people tell me they like one song or another, but everyone seems to like Man Friend.
I like that flyer better than I like you: Who made it?
That flyer was made by Mr. Alex Fine. He does excellent work: this is the third flyer he has made for me. When I see he has done such great work for a show I’m doing, I feel a great need to raise my game and do the best show ever. Here’s his info. www.facebook.com/alexfineillustration
So it’s been 10 years: What’s next?
Difficult to say…I will keep performing and making new songs. I have been doing a lot of writing, with a book out in zine form and others in the works. I just want to create, perform and enjoy my life. Odds are, if you are in touch with me either personally or over various social media, you will know about what I will be doing next.
http://www.facebook.com/daveygandthekeyboard
http://twitter.com/daveygandthe
Anything else?
Come to the Davey G and the Keyboard 10th !!!
Saturday, May 22 at the Windup Space!
And
Saturday, June 12 at the Sidebar!
Thanks for reading! Hope to see you at the show!
--Davey G.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Rambling words about Davey G and the Keyboard a fortnight before the Davey G and the Keyboard 10 Year Anniversary Show (a short series) Part 1
10 Years…a career that started on the couch of a house on Maryland Avenue…yes, the Davey G and the Keyboard trajectory has taken many turns. From the time that my old band, Lampstand, (for which I was not a keyboardist but a drummer) had it’s final meeting (a reunion eight years after our breakup) on July 2, 2000 until now, it has been quite a trip. Little did I know that the reunion of my high school band would ignite a desire within me that would last for so long. I’ve written about a lot of this before, so I’ll try to be brief in recapping it all…
Read about Lampstand here then come back and read the rest…
After that last show, I became inspired to return to the stage. After a summer of writing songs and goofing around on an old Kawai X20 keyboard, I had a set, and then a show, my first. September 2, 2000. 23 people showed up, and an act was born.
http://davecookson.tripod.com/daveyghistory.html
A few months later, I had a “tour” with my old band mate, Kneil, who was at the time in a band called Bromp Treb. I played in front of a green screen at Schenectady Cable Access, then a house party in Pittsfield, and then a show at Hampshire College. It was then January of 2001, and in those 3 shows, I really felt like I was on to something, setting a course that neither of us could have been aware of at the time…
2001-2002 was a heavy period of performances. Davey G and the Keyboard, as I was now calling myself, was getting off the ground. I had a fairly important show at the old Ottobar, then got a series of shows at the now defunct Winchester’s Comedy Club. I played and I played, and then I stopped, in 2002, and did not return until 2005...
When I came back to the stage in 2005, it was to much fanfare, more shows, more focus. I put together Prepare to be Keyboarded, then two years later I worked on what I had hoped would be my masterwork, Chairman of the Keyboard. This album was an attempt at more “professionalism,” an attempt to compensate for some of the rush jobs of the past. It was nothing if not an exercise in anal-retentiveness, at least as much of that as I am capable…
2008/2009 were also busy years, playing at the Sidebar, my home away from home.
Which brings me up to now, 10 years after the release of “Generica,” and the Davey G and the Keyboard 10th Anniversary Show (s)...
Next: The DGK 10 lineup and comments….
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Davey G and the Keyboard 10th Anniversary Show (s)
Flyer courtesy of Alex Fine.
On the 10th anniversary of his landmark album, “Generica” Davey G celebrates with you …
In the year 2000, I released my very first album, “Generica,” in cassette form. It had 21 tracks, some of which were very good, some of which were not very good. But it was the start of something fantastic, and ten years later it is time to celebrate the “achievement” of that magical debut album which launched the career of Davey G and the Keyboard. Come see me, Davey G in 2 very special shows in which I will be drawing heavily from that first album…
Saturday, May 22
The Windup Space
12 W. North Avenue
Davey G and the Keyboard
Pfisters
Paperback Tragedy
Scott Alexander
Man-Friend (The Davey G tribute band)
Saturday, June 12
The Sidebar
218 E. Lexington Street
Davey G and the Keyboard
The Mandroids
Rare Candy
Markitect
4th Grade Security Risk
Doors at 9 p.m for Both Shows.
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